Last Stand Boxed Set

by James David Victor

Jack checked his position on his holostage and called a halt. He took a knee and pressed himself to the side of the corridor, making best advantage of the only cover available—a thin conduit running down the side of the otherwise smooth wall. Sam Torent took a knee next to him, pulse rifle aimed down the length of the corridor toward the oncoming noise.

  Then Jack’s holostage detected movement on their right. They were heading into a trap, a crossfire. Jack split his squad into two sections with a few swift hand gestures and sent them to cover both attack fronts.

  Jack had been outflanked, but not taken by surprise. With a little time to prepare, he was sure they would win. He watched as the Marines moved quickly into position.

  Sam unclipped a grenade from his tactical suit and showed it to Jack.

  Jack nodded. He turned to the Marines in the other section and indicated for them to also deploy grenades. Jack held his hand up, holding the squad’s actions while he checked the holostage. The two groups of pirates were moving in a coordinated manner, both about to close the trap on Jack and his men. A moment before they came out of cover, Jack dropped his hand.

  Sam activated the device, paused, then threw it down the corridor. As the grenade flew away from Sam’s fist, a small propulsion charge kicked in and propelled the grenade right to the far end. Just as the gangsters came charging around the corner, the grenade detonated.

  As the thugs were flung aside by the blast, the pulse rifle fire came on. Jack, Sam, and their squad poured fire into the gangsters, and within seconds, the fresh wave of pirates was down.

  Jack walked to the end of the corridor and checked that the pirates were down. Sam was at his side.

  “There are still a few chokepoints before we get to the command deck corridor,” Jack said, nudging a fallen pirate with his toe. “If Beretta has thought this through, he will have men waiting for us at those locations. And then there is the command deck corridor itself. The only way is through that hall. And it’s designed to make it virtually impossible to storm the command deck.” Jack, satisfied the pirates were all finished, marched back to the squad.

  “Let’s form up and get ready. The only way in is down that corridor. Failure is not an option.”

  Jack waved to the squad and formed them up, ready to advance.

  “Hold up, Jack,” Sam said.

  Jack stopped and took a knee, his eyes fixed on the way ahead.

  “What is it, Sam?”

  “The matter transport device. Agent Reyes was working on it here in the Scorpio’s maintenance section. Maybe we can find one. A prototype, or some blueprints. I’m sure you could fix up one of those devices real quick.”

  Jack looked at Sam and shook his head.

  “I’m a pretty good engineer, Sam, but Reyes has a special knack with alien tech, and she was working on it for weeks, months even. I can’t just bash together a Devex matter transport device. We proceed on task.”

  Sam was tapping into the Scorpio’s equipment manifest on his wrist-mounted holostage. “I’m sure there’s one on board,” he said.

  “We haven’t got time, Sam,” Jack said, his attention returning to the way ahead. “And I don’t want to start messing around with alien technology right now.”

  Sam tapped Jack on the shoulder with his Mech cybernetic arm. His human arm had been lost in battle long ago. His first prosthetic had been Fleet issue, a sophisticated piece of engineering that had linked directly to his muscle tissue and nervous system, and he had hated it. That had been lost during the evacuation all that time ago, and then Sam had been given his new arm. It had been implanted as much as given, a gift from the Mechs—a part-organic, part-synthetic alien species encountered during the early days after the evacuation.

  “I’m always messing around with alien tech,” Sam said with a big grin. “Let’s find us a Devex matter transport device and we can materialize on the command deck and take Beretta out. No need to risk an assault along that command deck corridor.”

  “Negative, Sam,” Jack said. “The command deck is close. I don’t want to go hunting through the Scorpio for a device that might or might not be here.”

  “That command deck corridor is a very difficult defense to break down,” Sam said. “They can hold that position with a handful of guns, even in the hands of amateurs. You know it’s easier to defend a position than take it.”

  “True.” Jack stood. “But if we move in hard and fast, we can dominate them with speed and aggression and infiltrate that command deck before they can organize themselves. We need to move. Your idea is good, Sam, but we don’t have the time. And I can’t send you off looking for the device on your own. I need every gun in the fight. Time is short. Let’s move.”

  Jack started to walk to the end of the corridor. Sam fell in step beside him and signaled to the Marines to fall in.

  A gangster was squirming, blood pouring from wounds all over his body. He looked up at Jack, groaning and reaching out to beg for assistance. Jack fired a pulse round into his chest as he walked past.

  “Believe me, Sam, that’s the only thing I could have done to help him.”

  “Well, I would have let the scroat bleed to death,” Sam said. “Admit it, Jack, you’re a soft touch. How you ever made it to be a Fleet Marine officer I will never know. You’re just too kravin’ soft, and a tender heart isn’t going to get you anywhere.”

  “Move up, Sam,” Jack said, adding a hand gesture for a stealthy advance. “Make sure it’s clear and make sure not to give your position away to Beretta on the command deck. When we go in, we go in all together, all weapons firing. The only chance we have is to keep their heads down while we advance down the long corridor into the command deck. We need to get the Scorpio back under our control. The fleet needs us.”

  Pretorius was on the floor of the officers’ lounge on his hands and knees. Another blow landed on the side of his face, sending him sprawling. He tried to stand up, but only made it as far as his hands and knees again before another punch landed. Pretorius took the blow this time. He spat blood onto the thin carpet and felt one of his teeth come loose.

  A heavy kick to his abdomen sent him back to the floor. He rolled over and looked up to see the huge pirate advancing on him, fists clenched and a grin on his ugly face.

  Pretorius tried to get to his feet. He was not one to lie down in a fight. He made it back to his hands and knees as the gangster stood in front of him.

  “Get up,” the gangster said in a deep, menacing voice. He grinned darkly. “I don’t like to hit a man when he’s down. What am I saying?” the gangster laughed. “I don’t mind one little bit.”

  The fist came flying and connected sharply with Pretorius’s forehead, knocking him back to the deck. The tooth came out and swam around in the blood and saliva. Pretorius looked up at the gangster and spat in his face as he moved in again.

  The gangster recoiled and groaned as he wiped his chin. Pretorius crawled toward one of the room’s large chairs. He climbed up the side of the chair and got up onto his feet, turning to face the gangster that advancing on him once again with huge, clumping strides and two thumping fists ready to strike.

  Pretorius let go of the chair—a large, plush leather piece—and stepped out into the center of the lounge. He turned himself so his back was to the small drinks cabinet and raised his hands as if to fend off the blows that would surely come. He staggered back. And the blow came.

  The captain fended off the blows as best as he could, turning and staggering away, partly driven back by the powerful fist, partly because this was the way he wanted to go. He fell forward onto the cabinet, striking its lower door with his knee. The door popped open, and Pretorius slid down in front of the cabinet, knocking the clear composite tumblers and a large bottle of Amber onto the deck. Pretorius reached inside and grabbed a small but heavy shot glass. He held it in his palm.

  “No, please,” Pretorius said with an exhausted sigh. “I’ll tell you. Please stop.” Pretorius held his left arm up behind him, his palm open
as he begged the big gangster to leave him alone.

  The gangster grabbed him by the back of the collar and yanked him to his feet with a chuckle.

  Pretorius spun around. The shot glass in his hand faced outward, and he slammed the open end into the gangster’s eye. The thug wailed and staggered back, his hands up to his face with the shot glass embedded in his eye socket. Pretorius unsteadily made his way to a small safe on the far side of the officers’ lounge. He fell against the wall near the safe and pressed his thumb to the lock. The small door popped open. Pretorius reached inside and pulled out a pulse pistol. He walked over to the gangster, who was staggering half-blind toward the exit to the command deck.

  Pretorius stumbled over to the big gangster, crashing into him and pressing him into the wall next to the door. Pretorius pressed the pistol into the back of the gangster with his right hand and wrapped his left hand around the man’s mouth. He fired several rounds, and the pair fell to the deck in a mass of blood.

  Pretorius wriggled out from under the heavy corpse. He activated the electron blade on the tip of the pulse pistol and cut a piece of cloth away from the gangster’s shirt, using it to wipe his face clean. He spat again, clearing the blood from the socket where his tooth had once been. The bleeding hadn’t stopped yet. It filled his mouth and flowed freely from the cuts on his lips and over his eyes. Everything hurt.

  Pretorius threw the torn piece of blood-soaked shirt over the dead man’s face.

  Pretorius opened the door to the command deck and took a quick look. As he suspected, Beretta’s gang was a disorderly bunch, a sorry excuse for a bridge crew. Barely any of them were operating the command consoles. Beretta seemed preoccupied, moving from one console to another. There were only four of the gangsters attempting to make themselves useful.

  Pretorius took aim at Beretta and fired, but with his vision blurred and likely a detached retina, his aim was off. The pulse round slammed into the gangster standing next to Beretta. The gangster fell as the shot tore a chunk out of his shoulder. The three other gangsters turned and looked. Beretta turned and raised a pistol.

  Pretorius ducked back inside the doorway of the officers’ lounge as Beretta fired. Several pulse rounds slammed into the doorframe just centimeters from Pretorius’s face. The captain aimed blind around the corner and let off a stream of wild rounds. He heard the familiar sound of pulse rounds striking composite and one dull thud as a shot struck a body.

  Pretorius risked a look, hoping to find Beretta down, but Beretta was taking cover behind the command chair with his pistol aimed towards Pretorius. The two gangsters were edging forward using the command consoles as cover. Pretorius ducked back into cover a moment before a pulse round fizzed past. Pretorius knew his command deck better than anywhere in the galaxy, and he knew exactly where the consoles were in relation to the lounge door. This time, his blind firing would be a little less blind.

  He reached around the corner with the pulse pistol and laid down a series of rounds in the general direction of the navigation console where one of the gangsters was taking cover. Pretorius risked a look and found the gangster slumped dead over the console. Pretorius knew his aim had been partly due to his knowledge of his ship and partly luck.

  Pretorius heard someone running away, so he risked a look and saw a gangster running off the command deck. Beretta was shouting at the gangster, telling him to come back, to stand and fight. Pretorius broke cover and took aim at Beretta through his blurred vision, firing several rounds that struck the command chair, while others sailed past and slammed into the bulkhead behind. None hit Beretta.

  Beretta returned fire without even looking, then turned and fired a pulse round into the back of the fleeing gangster who had already made it to the long, straight.

  Pretorius dove out of the officers’ lounge and took cover behind the corpse slumped over the navigation console. He aimed at the command chair just in time to see Beretta backing away.

  Beretta let off a few poorly-aimed rounds at the captain before turning and running off the command deck.

  Beretta’s footsteps disappeared down the command deck corridor as Pretorius staggered to the command chair. Even with his vision blurred and eyes stinging from the blood running into them, he didn’t put a foot wrong. He could find his way around his command deck blindfolded. He reached up to the command chair armrest and activated the security door.

  The inner door of the command deck slid shut. Pretorius was in command of his ship again. Several dead gangsters littered the deck, and Pretorius stepped over one as he walked to the main holostage. The large image was easier for him to see than the smaller holoimage on the armrest. He anxiously checked the status of the Scorpio.

  The drive system was still powered down and its weapon systems were offline. The Scorpio was still in orbit around the gas giant’s moon. Pretorius zoomed out and revealed the map of the entire system.

  The fleet was falling back with the Skalidion swarm pressing hard. The civilian fleet was gathering at planet Blue, several already scattered across the surface while others were in the process of landing.

  Pretorius opened a channel to the flagship of the fleet. He saw on the holostage that the flagship was now the Canis. It took Pretorius a few moments to realize this was not a mistake. In that instant, he knew that the Scepter must have been destroyed and the flag had passed to Bob Stuart.

  “Fleet Flagship Canis, this is Pretorius.”

  The reply came after a moment.

  “Captain Pretorius, good to hear you. This is the Canis. The Skalidions are pushing us back toward planet Blue. We are fighting a rearguard action and a rolling retreat. The civilian fleet is landing on the planet. We will reform the fleet in orbit above planet Blue and make our last stand. If you can get the Scorpio into the fight, we might have a chance. We don’t have much time. Hope you can make it. Canis out.”

  Pretorius zoomed the holoimage in on the Scorpio and called up the ident codes of every crewman and officer left aboard. The Scorpio was empty, apart from two small squads of Marines. And the highest ranking of them all was a name that gave Pretorius confidence that maybe the Scorpio could be brought to action and join the fight against the Skalidions. He tapped the ident code of Major Jack Forge and opened a channel.

  “Jack, this is the captain. I have secured the command deck. I can’t run the ship on my own. I can barely see. I need you up here now. Do you copy, Jack?”

  Jack checked the location of the Marines on his holostage. He was moving in toward the central beam of the Scorpio from the starboard side. The squad under Lane’s command was several corridors over on the port side, caught in a fight with a group of pirates holding their position.

  Jack called in his small group and showed them Squad Leader Lane’s position.

  “Go and join Lane’s squad and put those pirates down. Good work, Marines. Go.”

  The Marines ran off. Jack turned to Sam.

  “Have you ever crewed a destroyer before, Sam?” Jack asked.

  “No,” Sam said. “But I’m prepared to give it a go.”

  “You have been my copilot on the tac boat a hundred times. Helping me and Pretorius move this destroyer will be no harder than that,” Jack lied. Piloting a destroyer was going to be virtually impossible, but Sam and Jack would be under the command of one of the greatest captains ever, Captain Pretorius. If anyone could turn them into a successful command deck crew in a matter of minutes, it was Alistair Pretorius.

  Jack opened a channel to Squad Leader Lane.

  “Squad Leader, this is Major Forge. I’ve sent you some reinforcements. They will be approaching your left flank any moment now. Also, there are a few pirates fleeing from the command deck. Pretorius has taken control. We have the Scorpio. I’m going to assist the captain, and we are going to get the Scorpio back in formation with the rest of the fleet. You and your squad are free to hunt down the last of these pirates. Capture them if you can. Kill them if you must. Watch out for your squad. These pirates are b
eaten, but they don’t know it yet, and they won’t give up easily. I know you can do it. Good hunting, Squad Leader. Forge out.”

  The reply came in over Jack’s communicator. Lane was stuttering as he had the first time Jack met him, but he replied in the affirmative.

  “Y-yes, s-sir. I have a group of pirates pinned down. I w-will neutralize them and get after the others. You can rely on me, sir. I will g-get it done.”

  “I know you can do it. Focus on the task. I know you will do the Fleet Marine Service proud.”

  Jack checked his pulse rifle, then turned to Sam.

  “Move fast. The captain is waiting for us. If we encounter any pirates, put them down hard.”

  Sam swung up his pulse rifle. “You don’t have to tell me twice. Let’s go.”

  Jack moved along the corridor at a steady run. He had been the fastest in the battalion and only Sam had been able to beat Jack in a foot race, albeit by using a few dirty tricks. Jack never held it against Sam for cheating in their races when they had been recruits. A good Marine got the job done any way he could.

  Jack turned a corner at full speed, swinging across the corridor and almost colliding with the far bulkhead. The short corridor turned again, and Jack was running along one of the main halls that ran the length of the destroyer. He was heading toward the bow section and the command deck where Pretorius was waiting to get the ship underway and back into the fight against the Skalidions.

  Jack didn’t need to check a map. He was as familiar with this ship as he was with any place he had ever been. He had spent weeks and months inside the ship. It had been his home. It had been his base of operations. He had been a Marine here since his first days in the service. He knew every twist and turn. He’d defended it against enemy boarding parties. He had defended it against enemies within the service. This was more than a workplace, it was part of who he was. This was his ship.

  Jack sprinted to a security door across the central corridor. On the far side was a junction with stairs up and down to the decks above and below. As he ran forward, he tapped on his wrist-mounted holostage and called up a holofile of the internal security systems. The door was locked, and it would not open. Jack slowed to a jog and then finally a walk and then he came to a halt in front of the sealed security doors.